she
listened.

"You are even fonder of her than I am, and I think you'll frighten me
in the end," she replied. "No, she hasn't been troubled again, except
that she has felt some pains in her limbs and had some headaches. But
we shall get rid of these very soon."

The maid then entered to announce that dinner was ready.

The table, sideboard, and eight chairs furnishing the dining-room were
of mahogany. The curtains of red reps had been drawn close by Rosalie,
and a hanging lamp of white porcelain within a plain brass ring
lighted up the tablecloth, the carefully-arranged plates, and the
tureen of steaming soup. Each Tuesday's dinner brought round the same
remarks, but on this particular day Dr. Deberle served naturally as a
subject of conversation. Abbe Jouve lauded him to the skies, though he
knew that he was no church-goer. He spoke of him, however, as a man of
upright character, charitable to a fault, a good father, and a good
husband--in fact, one who gave the best of examples to others. As for
Madame Deberle she was most estimable, in spite of her somewhat
flighty ways, which were doubtless due to her Parisian education. In a
word, he dubbed the couple charming. Helene seemed happy to hear this;
it confirmed her own opinions; and the Abbe's remarks determined her
to continue the acquaintance, which had at first rather frightened
her.

"You shut yourself up too much!" declared the priest.

"No doubt," echoed his brother.

Helene beamed on them with her quiet smile, as though to say that they
themselves sufficed for all her wants, and that she dreaded new
acquaintances. However, ten o'clock struck at last, and the Abbe and
his brother took up their hats. Jeanne had just fallen asleep in an
easy-chair in the bedroom, and they bent over her, raising their heads
with satisfied looks as they observed how tranquilly she slumbered.
They stole from the room on tiptoe, and in the lobby whispered their
good-byes:

"Till next Tuesday!"

"O, by the way," said the Abbe, returning a step or two, "I was
forgetting: Mother Fetu is ill. You should go to see her."

"I will go to-morrow," answered Helene.

The Abbe had a habit of commissioning her to visit his poor. They
engaged in all sorts of whispered talk together on this subject,
private business which a word or two enabled them to settle together,
and which they never referred to in the presence of other persons.

On the morrow Helene went out alone. She decided